Dissonance
by J. Travis
Summary: This is a retelling of "Tara's Song" from Spike's POV. As always, none of the characters are mine and all belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and Fox TV.


Dissonance  
  


Spike stood in the Summers' kitchen trying to decide what to prepare for the Nibblet tonight, but he knew it really wouldn't matter to the grieving young woman what she ate if she even bothered to eat at all. The funeral, held three weeks ago, was the last thing he wanted to think about, but that meant it was all the platinum blonde could see in his mind for the moment. He wondered if Buffy's gravestone danced in Dawn's head too, and he did everything he could to relieve some of her pain even if only fragments at a time. Pain, being something he was used to, didn't bother him as it had when he was William the poncy, bad poetry writing, foolish man who did nothing but pine after a woman who never gave him a second glance- other than to say he was beneath her. Well, Slayer,' he thought, guess I din't change that much, love, least ways you listened to me a few minutes.' But seeing the little one in pain, well, that broke his heart every night again and again. Spike wished there were more he could do for Dawn and even to help Tara, he was surprised he wanted to help Red's witch, but as he found himself spiraling further into a depression, it seemed to be Tara who took up his slack for the Bit. Each day someone reminded him whose fault it was that Buffy died, but the vampire damn well blamed himself more than enough and certainly didn't need old Rupes, Super Witch and the prat reminding him he should've done more, been faster, and saved the day for his beloved Slayer. Normally he'd just order out for food, but cooking gave him something and someone to focus on other than Buffy Summers, and even a brief hiatus from seeing her fall, looking at her gravestone, and sobbing was better than nothing. Plus, cooking meant not having to speak. Finding little in the fridge, Spike angrily thought, Damn witch! It was her turn to shop, and that chit knew it! Bloody hell, Red, you could at least try and help,' but the anger he was striving for didn't really come and the words never vocalized.  
  
The past three weeks passed in a blur of mundane errands, a booze soaked haze, and total lack of sleep. Oh, Spike had tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes Buffy stood before him bathed in light until her body fell, always in a sickening slow motion, with an inevitable thud. Yes, it was better to withdraw, and maybe the pain would recede until he could find words to apologize to Dawn, his girl, the pretty child who never once accused him of killing her sister as she should. That was the worst part. He could take the filthy looks thrown at him by the Slayer's mates because he felt they were deserved, but it was his Lil' Bit he wanted to rage, scream, and rant at him. The others, by extension, were barely a minor chord that served as forward motion in an unfinished meter.  
  
Closing the fridge, the former Big Bad' walked towards the cabinets and pulled out the dry pasta. There were a few cans of tomatoes, some olives and even a tin or two of anchovies along with an old unopened jar of capers that must have belonged to Joyce Puttanesca it is,' thinking that might be comfort food for his Pint Size given her love of the salty fish, odd, she is mine now...like a kid sis or daughter...' Spike smiled sadly at the idea of his being a parent, PTA, Slayer... Buffy, love, you'd laugh,' it was a pain filled thought.  
  
Wondering if the kinder of the two witches would be home soon, Spike thought perhaps he should tone down the spice in the sauce since Spike wasn't certain if Tara was fond of red pepper. To the blonde's satisfaction, Tara entered the front door carrying groceries. Pet, you're a lamb,' he wanted to tell her. One, it was true, and two, his witch wouldn't forget the little one-not that Dawn was all that little anymore, Mine, when did I start thinking of Tara as mine too?' that puzzled Spike who didn't want the responsibility of caring for another human. She took care of everyone, including him, and the bird never asked for much in return. What little she wanted, Spike was happy to give-except conversation. Both she and his Nibblet tried desperately to draw him out, but he couldn't talk to them. He knew he was at fault, the whelp knew he was at fault, Red blamed him without saying she blamed him, and Ripper just scowled his direction now and then, Bloody hell,' he inwardly groaned, can't let em down again.' His shoulders sagged a little more, but he continued cooking as Tara put away groceries and chatted.  
  
Spike, you d-don't have to cook every night, the chit stuttered at him, I'd be happy to help. He didn't reply, and she didn't look like she was really expecting him to, still, he'd give her some credit since she didn't push at him for answers. Tara, he suspected, only hoped he'd say something to her, but depression is a funny thing. It's a music belonging to itself that never quite harmonizes properly, and the depressed person is the dissonant chord that refuses to resolve unless someone understands the counterpoint of it all.   
  
Giles called m-me, at work, he'll be here tomorrow night to help with Dawn...do you mind? Tara shyly asked, but Spike couldn't force even a simple one word answer from his throat. The replies stuck fast behind sobs and grief with which the demon wanted nothing. As much as he appreciated the girl trying to make things normal for him, he didn't want to lose control over his sorrow in front of her or, Angelus forbid, Nibblet. It would only cause them pain.   
  
Tara, still putting away the groceries, looked tired to Spike and he casually pulled a chair away from the kitchen table for her to sit. Her smile only made him flinch and pull further inward, but distance was necessary. There was no way he'd break down again in front of one them, Platlet'll know. It'll make her cry..don't want that happenin',' he reflected, and the last time he'd broken down was the day of the funeral. That memory was bad enough with the two women trying to comfort him, holding him, telling him it would be okay, and he'd shut down rather than cause either one more pain.   
  
Continuing to cook, he listened to Tara describe her day at the library. He silently thanked her for keeping her conversation light and realized he liked that about Red's bird, her ability to sense what people needed sometimes before they knew themselves. It was an admirable quality in any creature when acted upon, and the lovely woman here certainly helped more than any of the others, Includin' meself,' Spike thought,'guilt...who'd a thought the scourge of Vienna would ever feel guilt.' It was a new emotion to the vampire though he vaguely recalled it in his human memory. Finally, sauce put together, he handed Tara a spoon, and he watched her feeling rather amazed that she would accept the food at face value and only thank him for making the meal.  
  
It's delicious! Do you think it needs it more red pepper? Tara asked causing the vampire to beam at her, and he quickly added the extra pepper Dawn loved. I knew there was reason to like you, chit, Bit and me'll love havin' another spice fiend around,' he thought and continued smiling until his memory dragged him back to Buffy, alive, but on the tower yet again.   
  
He hadn't really been up there, but in his mind he'd always see her smiling, telling her sister she loved her, and making the choice to let someone else live while she died. Noble. That was the Slayer, his girl, but she'd never been his girl, only in dreams. When the phone rang, he was startled out of his memories to hear Tara say she'd get it, but at least the front door opened again. Dawn. She looked tired, eyes swollen from lack of sleep and too many tears, but she claimed summer school wasn't so bad. The youngest Summers stood in the doorway, and Spike desperately wanted to talk to her but felt his vocal chords freeze at the thought. No, git! You don't get ta burden her. You're here for her,' he smiled at her instead and waved for her to come try the sauce which she happily did, and the girl even made a point of complimenting Spike's cooking skills. Dawn turned, grinned at Tara, and Spike would've sworn he saw a conspiratorial look between the two women, but he ignored his curiosity and set the timer for two hours. That would be more than enough time for Dawn to get homework started and settled. He'd add the olives and capers just before serving to make the dish taste as fresh as possible.   
  
W-willow called. She's having dinner with Xander and Anya, Spike, but she asked if you'd save her some leftovers. I guess everyone around here loves your cooking, Tara said in reference to the phone call she answered, and Spike merely nodded in response. He wasn't certain why on earth Mega Witch wanted him to know she'd be eating with the soddin' moron, but he didn't mind saving her some food if Glinda asked.   
  
After dinner was served, eaten, and the mess cleaned, Spike found himself tossing Dawn's backpack to the girl and pointing upstairs. He didn't give a damn if she went to summer school, but he knew Buffy would've wanted the girl to keep up her studies because, truth be told, she was smarter than just about anyone else he knew. Still, it wouldn't hurt her to have a break now and then, and he nodded when she asked about telly after homework. It's fine,' he thought, as long as the work's done, Bit.' She smiled and hugged the vampire who decided he'd turned into quite the poof, but what else to do? Buffy was her sister, not him, it wouldn't due for him to get all older brother or fatherly on the girl-not now. Tara announced she'd help Snack Size with schoolwork and quietly told Spike to go home and get some rest, but Spike would have none of it. Not on my watch, kitten, you two make plans come morning,' he wanted to say, but the words refused to come to him. He'd gotten so used to choking back everything he wanted to say that words were rapidly becoming a non-issue. If he didn't speak his mind, he wouldn't have to worry with what might be said. Instead of leaving, he shrugged at the two girls and plopped down on the Summers' couch, stretching like a panther cub newly staking territory, but that was okay by him too. At least it was a comfortable couch.  
  
For once, everything remained quiet, to Spike's delight, and he was left alone all night with Tara and Dawn. Red's not comin' back tonight...wonder what bug's up er skirt...,' Spike thought, Hope she's givin' that Harris a good smack for being a wanker...not bloody likely.' Spike feigned sleep with Dawn nestled against his shoulder, Tara asleep against Dawn, as he smiled at the thought of Willow doing a number on Xander. He'd pay to see the kind of mojo that witch could do on the boy, but reality told him to keep dreaming because surely the two were off crying on each other's shoulders, and ignoring the people who'd best help them if allowed of course. Shortly before sunrise, the vampire disentangled himself from the sleeping girls and left for his crypt. Willow, home at last, had left a note for them all that read, Didn't want to wake you. You all looked peaceful. Perhaps Glinda's bint wasn't so bad and understood Dawn needed him, and maybe she didn't blame him entirely for Buffy's death Spike hoped. Ultimately, he knew he needed to stop blaming himself, but he found himself unable to stop.  
  
The ride home, uneventful, seemed to take forever, but Spike wasn't really looking for rest. Rest was easy, too easy for him, while drowning in liquor meant, subsequently, a good old fashioned hangover that would be almost as painful as the chip. If he hit someone, he'd have to live with the guilt that Buffy might somehow know and be hurt by his actions-hangover was easier. He pulled into Sunnydale's finest cemetery, hid his bike in the usual place after a cursory glance to ensure he wasn't followed, and sighed thinking about the new bottle of Kentucky's best waiting for his return. It was the pain he craved, and the more Spike thought about the pain, the more he realized he needed it because that too gave him a minute not to think of Buffy or Joyce. Stepping into his crypt, he tossed the well worn, slightly battered, and much loved leather duster to the side as he grabbed his bottle of bourbon before heading to his armchair. On the advice of his poker buddy, Clem, he thought about bolting the door but decided against it. If some nasty kills me, pet, it's not like abandonin' a promise, right. You'd understand death,' Spike wearily hoped.   
  
The crypt, utterly filthy, was cluttered with rotted food, half empty blood bags, and broken liquor bottles. Even Spike who was used to a spot of mess was disgusted, but he had no energy or desire to do anything about it. His Bite Size and the White Witch were both safe and sleeping, and that was all that mattered to him for the moment. The booze coursed through his body, and he found himself in need of music. Nothin' quiet to sooth the soulless...just noise and power,' he thought it seemed like a good idea. Flipping through a stolen collection of cd's, Spike chose the Violent Femmes-the Femmes have a way of screaming the damned funniest lyrics and sounding like the saddest blokes around. The music pounded into his head, the strangely upbeat melodies and lyrics contrasting with the harshness in the harmony, but the demon in him was always soothed by the rawness punk had to offer. By six am, the music ended and Spike was finally overtaken by a light, nightmare filled sleep, but this time he saved Buffy in his dreams unlike the waking replay he'd experienced-there's a first for everything.  
  
When the knock on his door came, about three hours later, he was puzzled to hear Tara quietly announce, Spike? It's T-t-tara, open the door, please?" His first reaction was to run at the door and beg to know if Dawn was okay, but he knew Tara wouldn't have bothered with knocking to rush an urgent message of the Nibblet's welfare to him. Now what...,' he wondered, does this bird know what time it is?' The irritation quickly drained from the man when he realized that Tara had done something no other Scooby, including his darling Lil' Bit, had done-she knocked. It was such a human gesture, small really, but one that spoke of mutual respect between two beings, and once again, Spike felt a tug of affection for the girl. Grabbing the nearest blanket, he opened the door and motioned Tara inside noting she was carrying a laundry basket filled with cleaning supplies. Spike shambled back towards his armchair and watched the dark blonde suspiciously. He could see her reflection in the telly, and was amazed to watch her inspect his crypt without flinching.  
  
"I'll be quick, Spike, as quick as I can. You j-j-just relax," he heard her say, "Dawn w-wants to come over tomorrow, and you won't have to w-worry with the mess yourself now, okay? When my m-mother died, there was always someone over t-t-to cook and clean the first two weeks...did I tell you that? It's what we do there, and I'm sorry I didn't come sooner, it was difficult to contain the astonishment he felt hearing Tara apologize to him. She treated him like a person with thoughts, feelings, and even went so far as to show him kindness and compassion. Again, Spike felt a pull in his heart, and he wanted to throw himself down at the Tara's feet proclaiming his unworthiness and undying gratitude.   
  
Six hours later, Spike continued to watch the girl clean. His depression lightened, slightly, and he was even more stunned when he realized not once did Tara reproach him for the mess. She hummed prettily, cleaned gracefully, how strange to see someone perform menial tasks with the spellbinding power of a prima ballerina, Tara managed just that. By the time she was done, Spike couldn't believe the trash she'd gathered and he felt himself cringe from embarrassment. To her credit, he thought, she didn't reproach him or try and make him feel even less connected to the outside world. Spike was unable to believe someone could give him even a fraction of the compassion Red's chit showed him over half a day, but it didn't matter how many times he blinked-she was really there. Finally finished, he watched the young woman push her hair from her face with a dirty hand, and he noticed it was a hand used to helping. Worn from work, strong, and capable were Tara's hands. He saw her grin as she surveyed her work, impressed, he supposed, by the difference. Even he couldn't believe how different the crypt looked, and he watched her curiously as she turned to him.  
  
"Th-the clothes, Spike, I'll bring them back a-a-after they're cl-clean, okay?" she asked, "You don't have to s-s-say anything, just nod."   
  
Suddenly, an overwhelming grief rushed through Spike, and he could feel the sobs shuddering through his abdomen, into his chest, and out of his throat as he stood and staggered towards Tara. The floor seemed non-existent to his feet, and he felt his body crash towards concrete it wouldn't hit because the witch, astonishing girl, was running forward to catch him. She would hold him, console him, and she would be the resolution. Vaguely, he understood the soft girl beneath him was crying too, but he understood she was crying for him and not because of him. "I'm here, let it out, it's all right now, we'll help each other, you have Dawn, you have me, we'll help you, you have to let us help now, you're a part of my family too, she spoke to him, repeating those words many times, in low tones he found soothing. I'm a monster, pet...don't waste your tears...not on me,' but the unspoken phrase only forced newer, fresher, harder tears and cries from the self-proclaimed fiend until exhaustion settled into Spike's limbs. He could feel the blackness take him...mercy...Tara was merciful...  
  
After waking, Spike felt the sun setting in his blood, and he was shocked to find himself cradled against Tara's breasts like a child. Her voice, bell like, shimmered around him as she sang a long forgotten song Spike recalled hearing on a trip through New Orleans decades ago, Hush a bye, don't you cry, go to sleepy, little baby," such a charming old piece, really. He blinked tears away and cleared his throat, Ya din't have ta stay, pet, thank you, his voice sounded like sandpaper run across a bass, but just being able to hear it was a blessed relief.   
  
Tara smiled down at the vampire, and he heard her words spoken gently, You're my friend. Dawn and I need you, something instantly clicked and Spike realized how lucky Red was-Tara glowed. He felt himself grin back at the girl as he stood, stretched, and helped her up from the floor.  
  
"All right then, luv, let's get my Bit and go home," he told her while he reached for the laundry basket, heavier now with his dirty clothes, and the two stepped into the early silver light.


End file.
